


Wrestling Tigers

by soberloki



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angsty Schmoop, Cuddling & Snuggling, M/M, Sexual Humor, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-30
Updated: 2013-11-30
Packaged: 2018-01-03 00:52:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1063716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soberloki/pseuds/soberloki
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean comes back to the motel, and Sam's not there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wrestling Tigers

Dean comes home - if a motel is ever really home - later than he expected, and he's braced for Bitchface #4786 as he opens the door, but as he crosses the threshold, he doesn't see Sam anywhere.

The bathroom door is open, the light off. Sam's laptop is closed, on the dinette table. One bed is a mess, looks like Sam fought a tiger or maybe jerked off for an hour, and there are two empty beer bottles on the nightstand, next to the screwed-down remote control.

 _Aha_ , Dean thinks, _Baby Bro had a spank session and a couple of beers, and went for a run._ He's kind of proud of himself for thinking that through instead of immediately calling Sam and demanding answers. Sam's been cranky as shit lately, and getting on Dean's last nerve.

_Maybe now he'll calm the fuck down._

Since he's got the room to himself, Dean figures he'll follow his brother's lead. Sam's always encouraging Dean to live by the example he presents. Well, fine. Masturbation and beer it is.

He's got _Casa Erotica_ playing in the background, one of the more exotic ones with the ass-play and all of that, his heels planted in the mattress as he fucks up into his right hand and fingers his hole with his left, and is paying precisely no attention at all to his surroundings. The hot, wet mouth that descends on the tip of his cock _out of nowhere_ makes him scream in an entirely undignified and _this-is-it-this-is-how-I-die-with-my-finger-up-my-ass-and-my-dick-waving_ kind of way.

The hot mouth disappears and a heavy weight hits the bed beside him, accompanied by hysterical laughter.

Dean is... he doesn't even know. Humiliated? Nope. Angry? Not that either, surprisingly. A weird sensation in his chest sort of bubbles up into his throat and out, and he's _giggling_ , which is so fucking wrong. Dean Winchester chuckles manfully or not at all, and then he gives in because holy fuck, Sam just scared the ever-loving shit out of him with the beginnings of a blowjob, and if that isn't funny, not much is.

"Were you planning to just get off and ignore me tonight, or what?" Sam demands eventually, still half-laughing. He's propped up on one elbow next to Dean, watching him with a stupid smirk on his face.

"Oh, come on. You had yours earlier, I saw what the bed looked like." Dean's uncomfortable because he still has his fingers in his ass and his arm is going to sleep from being in such a strained position under his body; his dick is still at attention, demanding its due. Apparently imminent death by cock-sucking doesn't scare _it_ any.

"Nope, that wasn't any kind of sex."

"So where'd you get the tiger?"

"What?"

"Nothing, nothing. So if not sex, what the hell did you do to mess up the bed?"

Sam grins without an ounce of shame and announces, "I was jumping on it."

Dean flexes his fingers, more to make sure they'll still work than to move himself along, and twitches bodily when he flicks his own prostate with a fingernail.

"Still, Dean? I'm _right here_. Can't you hold on the fifteen seconds it'll take me to get my damned jeans off?"

"Well then get on with it! Jesus, you're the slowest fucker around!"

Sam climbs to his feet and smirks as he peels out of his clothes. "And that's what you love about me, isn't it? My cock making sweet, sweet love to you, hey baby?"

Dean nails him in the face with the pillow. "Shut up and fuck me already. _Why_ were you jumping on the bed?"

"High ceilings. I'm bored without a hunt, it's been driving me crazy. And unlike some people, I can wait for the actual two-person sex to happen. Fingers out, pass me the lube."

Dean gropes stickily for the bottle and lobs it; enjoys the face Sam makes when he realizes he's now got used lube on his hands. _Priss, your fingers and dick are going in my ass in ninety seconds._ Sam reaches down to slick himself, and Dean lets go of his impulse to mock and just _admires_ for a long minute.

Sam's built, and he goes fucking _tanning_ , so he doesn't have any pale spots or lines. He's a long, golden god with a really, really gorgeous uncut cock - which is weird, because Dean's cut, and he can only imagine the conversation their parents had about _that_ issue after four years and he really needs to stop thinking about them - and here he comes, his Sam, his gigantic little brother who loves him best and always will, always did.

The first touch is always the best one, the jolt of happy recognition and the sizzle of wrong desire. 

It's been pulling Dean like a magnet to his polar opposite since he was eighteen and Sammy was fourteen and too naive to understand that loving his brother was fine but wanting to fuck him was probably really not.

Dean never cared. When Sam needed, Dean provided. As it is now, so has it always been, or some shit like that. He sighs and pulls Sam down to kiss him, because despite their antagonism everywhere else, this is the place they're most themselves, and they can both have exactly what they need.

Ever the multi-tasker, Sam pushes Dean's left leg out a bit and gets his fingers down and in his hole, making him slicker and looser by the second. Dean loves him fiercely for the care he takes. He's so big, and he never wants to hurt anyone, least of all Dean.

"Hey, I've got you, Dean. Almost ready. You want it? Tell me what you want. I've got you, man."

"Damn it, Sam..." Dean whines, because he knows Sam likes the control. " _In me_. Now."

Sam removes his fingers and drops his hips just far enough that the head of his dick rubs Dean perineum. "What was that?"

"Get your dick in me, Sammy, or I swear I'm letting the next monster fucking _have_ you."

Sam snorts his amusement. "So _bossy_ , Pretty." But he stops teasing, and for this Dean is supremely grateful. He's been hard and unsatisfied for the better part of forty minutes, and he's starting to hurt. Sam pushes in slow and deliberate, taking his time so he can watch Dean shiver and huff and screw up his face at the sensation of fullness and expansion.

When Sam bottoms out inside his brother, he waits, moving his hips the very slightest bit, studying Dean, who's gone calm and quiet. Soon he'll start griping and demanding to be fucked, but for right now, Dean's happy. Sam loves this moment, whether he's inside Dean or Dean's inside him. He's loved Dean since he could form the thought, and he thinks that nothing, no demon, no angel, certainly no monster or plain old evil human, can ever change what they mean to each other.

"Sammy..." Dean breathes, and Sam moves, withdrawing entirely, and easing back into the welcoming heat of Dean's perfect, scarred, beloved body. After a few more long, deep strokes, he picks up speed and makes his thrusts slightly shallower.

"Did you think about me? When you were here alone, with your fingers in your ass, did you think of me and how much you want me? Huh?" He's hitting Dean's prostate on every third or fourth thrust, he can tell by the lovely cut-off gasps and sighs Dean's giving him, and he wants Dean's voice now, proper words.

"Ye-es," Dean wavers, and reaches up to hold the headboard. "You, baby boy."

"Only me, right? Only ever your Sammy, right?" If he's demanding and a little needy during sex, that's allowed. Their bed is the place where the shells crack open and they get to be just Sam and Dean, who love each other.

"Sammy," Dean pants. "Only Sammy." He's so fucking close, he can feel his balls drawing up. It's not quite enough, though, and Sam knows it. Sam will give him what he needs when it's time. Dean wishes it was time _now_ , but Sam's signals tell him this needs to be his show.

Sam's orgasm hits him without buildup and with the approximate force of Mjolnir, and he howls as he comes inside Dean, pressed as deep as he can go. As soon as his body unlocks, Sam wraps his fist, still well-anointed with lube, around Dean's cock, and pulls him over the edge, rocking his hips into his brother as he softens.

"Ummagah," Dean gurgles, and tries again. "You OK, Sammy? It's been a while since you asked me that."

Sam kisses him. "Yeah, I'm good. Been going stir-crazy, but something will come up soon. It always does."

Dean shoves until Sam rolls off, and lines them up face-to-face on their sides. Now for the making out. 

This might be Dean's favourite thing, post-coital snuggling. Of course he'll deny it until he's blue in the face, even to Sam if there are witnesses or he's annoyed, but this brings him peace. He can touch and press his face to Sam's skin and inhale his (vaguely goat-like) scent, and Sam kisses him for as long as Dean wants, sated and warm and gentle.

Fuck the monster-hunting family business, Dean's in this to keep Sam safe. Whatever it takes, however many _things_ he has to kill, he'll do it. Sam doesn't have to ask.


End file.
